


Masaomi

by Twyd



Category: Durarara!!
Genre: Adolescent Sexuality, Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ambiguous Slash, Angst, Caretaking, Cats, Crushes, Domestic Fluff, Feelings, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Homelessness, Homosexuality, Hurt/Comfort, Look At Your Life Look At Your Choices, M/M, Pre-Slash, Secret Crush, Sexuality Crisis, Slash, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings, Unrequited Crush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-26
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2019-02-18 13:32:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13101219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Twyd/pseuds/Twyd
Summary: “Is that why you’ve been so nice to me? You have a thing for angry blondes who hate you?”





	Masaomi

Masaomi drags one foot in front of the other until he’s standing at Izaya’s front door. He shifts his backpack to his other shoulder, stalling, as if the delay will change his situation. When he raises his fist to knock, his sleeve is filthy, thick with grime, his nails and fingers dirt-ridden. He has a bandage wrapped around his palm in need of changing. He lowers his hand again. He can’t see Izaya looking like this.

But, he can hear the rain from even this windowless corridor, and he needs a moment to brace himself for going back into it. He thinks of Izaya’s apartment, with its high ceilings and pristine sofas, the warmth of it, everything so clean it shone. He thinks of Izaya giving him a glass of water, maybe a cup of tea he could warm his hands around.

He knocks before he can stop himself, and instantly wishes he hadn’t. He backs off like he’s done something terrible, praying the informant hadn’t heard. He can’t even remember what his excuse was.

His back is to the apartment, heading for the elevator, when he hears the informant call after him.

“Masaomi?”

The voice fills him with dread. He turns back slowly.

The informant is standing barefoot in his open doorway, the lamplight glowing behind him invitingly.

“I’m here. Are you coming in or not?”

 _Not_ , he thinks, but he feels too stupid to run away.

Izaya shifts impatiently.

“Hurry up, you’re letting the heat out.”

He finds himself putting one foot in front of the other all over again. Izaya steps aside to let him through. Masaomi drops his eyes as he feels the other man looking him over, taking in his appearance, and feels his cheeks start to burn.

“My, what happened to you?”

Masaomi stops just before the door, wishing he hadn’t come.

However, Izaya only holds the door open wider.

“I’m joking, Masaomi, don’t be so sensitive. Come on, you can use the shower.”

This is far more generous than he’d been expecting. He steps into the apartment and stands there shivering, hoping Izaya hadn’t been joking. The informant brings him some spare clothes and a fluffy towel. 

“Do you have more laundry in here?” he asks, taking his stuffed rucksack. “I can charge your phone as well.”

Masaomi hands it over slowly. He wonders if he is hallucinating in a doorway somewhere. That is surely a better explanation than the reality: Izaya apparently reading his mind and, even less likely, taking pity on him. Izaya waves him off when he just stands there.

“Go on, you know where it is.”

He loves Izaya’s bathroom. It’s so pristine it could almost be for show. He has a long, long shower, tipping his head back and closing his eyes in the heat, making liberal use of the shower cream and shampoo. He loves the feeling of being clean, fresh and sensitive and new. He looks longingly at the bath, but thinks better of it and gets out. Puts on the shorts and sweater Izaya left for him. They’re a little big, the sleeves hanging down over his knuckles, but warm.

He can hear the machine clunking with his clothes when he comes back downstairs. Izaya throws a rug blanket at him. He’d started shaking again without even realising.

“Sit down.”

He wraps himself up and sits down, curling back on the sofa he’d been fantasising about.

“Do you want me to change that?”

Izaya is looking at his poorly bandaged hand. He goes to get fresh ones without waiting for an answer.

“Come over to the sink so I can clean it.”

Izaya says nothing when he sees what’s beneath, and cleans Masaomi's wound with surprising gentleness. He also cleans the cut one Masaomi's forehead, that he'd forgotten about. Masaomi could probably do this bit himself, but he enjoys the sensation of someone looking after him. Masaomi holds his breath, watching him, Izaya's face inches from his own. Izaya catches his eyes then and lets go. It may be Masaomi's imagination, but he has a guarded look about him.

"Thanks," Masaomi says to his retreating back.

Izaya gestures for him to sit down.

“Do you want something to eat?”

Masaomi blinks at him, waiting for the punchline.

Izaya waves a hand in his face.

“Don’t play little lost orphan with me, Masaomi. Do you want something to eat or not?”

“Yes,” he croaks. “Yes, please.”

He pulls his knees up on the couch while Izaya’s in the kitchen, staring at his now white-clean toes. The noise in his head has faded to an almost pleasant buzz.

He’s almost nodding off by the time Izaya puts some soup in front of him, almost doesn’t want it. It’s too hot anyway, so he warms his hands with it. He expects the informant to interrogate him, but he just goes back to his desk and taps away at his computer, ignoring him completely.

The first spoonful burns his tongue, but he’s so hungry he wolfs it anyway. Izaya gives him more, and then brings him some cocoa, like he’s six. Masaomi almost laughs, it’s so bizarre.

“Why are you being so nice?”

“Are you complaining?”

The informant hops on the other end of the sofa and waits.

Masaomi tries to wait him out, and listens to the rain lashing outside.

“Do you want to tell me what’s happened?”

His hands tremble, and he has to put the cocoa down. He draws his knees up again and hugs them.

“It’s Saki.”

“Yes. I kind of gathered that.”

“She left.”

“Oh dear,” Izaya says. He sounds completely insincere.

“I told her to.”

He senses the informant’s eyebrows raise, although he keeps his eyes averted.

“Did you now. How did she take it?”

“Does it matter?” Masaomi mutters. “She left.”

“And?”

Masaomi squirms. He wonders if Izaya’s new-found generosity would extend to letting this go. Probably not.

“I gave her some money to take with her. To help her.”

“…And?”

Somewhere behind him, the washing machine stops and the apartment is quiet. Even the rain sounds further away.

“And…we had a fight, and she helped herself to the rest.”

Izaya’s laughter is so shrill it makes him jump.

“Sorry.” He covers his mouth, still spluttering. “But that is hilarious. How can I not laugh?”

“I know,” Masaomi deadpans. “I laughed too. But it’s been a little while now, and I’m not finding it very funny anymore.”

“Hmmm,” Izaya says. He puts his legs on the coffee table and stretches his arms over his head, letting them dangle off the back of the sofa. “So you don’t have any money.”

Masaomi closes his eyes.

“That’s not why I’m here. I just wanted…”

“Yes?” Izaya prompts.

He shakes his head. He doesn’t know what he wants.

“So you _don’t_ want any money?” Izaya says teasingly, and Masaomi feels he might throw up the soup, and has to swallow down bile. He keeps his eyes closed as they grow hot.

“I should go, my clothes are done,” he mumbles.

“You didn’t answer me.”

“I owe some people money as well,” he says, and Izaya’s smirk fades.

“Which people?”

Masaomi mumbles something. He doesn’t want to be in debt to Izaya as well.

He opens his mouth to say this, but what comes out is a sob. And another as he tries to get it under control. And another, and another, and then Izaya is pushing tissues into his hand and pulling the blanket around him more firmly, and Masaomi finds himself clinging to him. The more he tries to get it under control, the more jagged his breathing becomes, as if air doesn’t belong in his body.

“Breathe, Masaomi.”

Izaya pulls the blanket around him more firmly and holds him. He covers his face as he sobs.

There is lightning by the time he’s quiet. He ends up with his head on Izaya’s lap, still wrapped in the blanket, with the informant scratching his hair at intervals.

“All right,” Izaya says when he’s quiet. His voice is as neutral as ever, and Masaomi doesn’t know if he’s amused or sympathetic or bored. “Why don’t you stay here tonight, and we can talk about it tomorrow?”

Masaomi says nothing. There is a little wet patch on Izaya’s jeans from his tears.

“Masaomi?”

“Yes,” he mumbles.

“Come on, then.”

He leads Masaomi to a room with a shocking pink bedspread and teddies on the pillows.

“Sisters,” Izaya explains, which surprises him, as he thought Izaya wasn’t close to his sisters. Though after tonight nothing will surprise him anymore.

Once he’s in bed, Izaya goes to ruffle his hair, and he flinches automatically. The informant narrows his eyes with amusement.

“Do you think I’d hit you?”

He says nothing.

“Oh dear,” he says again, still in the same bland tone. “Things are not good, are they?”

He expects the informant to leave him alone, but instead he sits on the bed and puts his hand on Masaomi’s ankle. “Nothing you’ve done is irreversible, you know,” he says. “You could go back to school, you could speak to good old Mikado. You’re just a kid. You can do whatever you like.”

Masaomi stares at him. It is the only time he’s heard Izaya say something stupid.

“You think you’re so special,” he goes on. “But what you haven’t really done anything, not in the grand scheme of things. You’re just a kid, and people still like you, so, I’m just saying…” he shrugs. “If you want to do anything differently, sooner’s better than later.”

Masaomi shakes his head.

“You’re just trying to manipulate me again.”

“I’m just telling you your options.” He sounds exasperated. “You can do whatever you want. Saki’s gone. Your burden is lifted.”

“Don’t talk about her like that.”

Izaya doesn’t answer.

His breathing still catches now and then, the after-effect of his tears.

“Why are you being so nice?”

“I thought I was manipulating you.” His voice is heavy with sarcasm. He lets go of Masaomi’s ankle when he doesn’t respond. “Well, goodnight.”

Masaomi’s hand catches his sleeve.

“Can you…stay for a minute?”

The informant hesitates. Masaomi tenses and waits for him to say something patronising, but all he says is,

“You can’t rely on people being nice to you, Masaomi.” Then he sits back on the bed and turns off the lamp.

Masaomi keeps hold of his sleeve.

He feels Izaya get up after a few minutes, as if to leave, but he only crawls over him to the other side of the bed and lies down. Masaomi turns to face him, half obscured by the pillow, trying to hate him and not quite managing it.

-

Izaya is gone when he wakes up. Masaomi’s newly washed clothes are folded over the end of the bed, along with a toothbrush and clean towel.

He finds the informant on the phone when he comes downstairs. He doesn’t hang up, but pushes an omelette in front of Masaomi while he’s still speaking Russian and leaves him with it. He doesn’t hang up until Masaomi’s almost finished.

“I can give you the money now. Before you argue,” he says, when Masaomi opens his mouth. “Just think of it as an advance. Or compensation, or whatever you like. I don’t really care. But there’s no debt. I don’t need anything from you.”

Masaomi takes the wallet of notes without knowing what to say.

“Tell me who you owe and I’ll make sure there’s no hard feelings,” he says, and Masaomi can hardly believe his ears, that it’s possible for someone to just wave a magic wand and make all his problems go away.

“You don’t have to leave yet,” Izaya tells him. “If you want to stay here and catch up on some sleep. I have to go out for a while, so make yourself at home.”

Masaomi just stares at him.

Izaya makes a face good-naturedly, mimicking him.

“I’ll see you later. If you’re still here.”

He curls up on the couch when Izaya is gone, struggling to understand. It’s a trick. It must be. The informant can’t possibly be feeling bad about what he’s put Masaomi through, he doesn’t have it in him. Perhaps it’s pity. Perhaps he is helping Masaomi the way he would take pity on a dumb animal caught in a trap.

Masaomi thinks about Izaya when he's left alone.He used to think this is what he wanted for himself – this kind of money, this kind of home. He tells himself he could have the perfect version of Izaya’s life, because he has the personality and the empathy to make sure he won’t get isolated, but now he’s not too sure. Izaya had plenty of personality and intelligence, and people probably fell for him all the time, and yet something had gone wrong and he was unmistakably alone. Perhaps not outwardly unhappy, but still alone. There are no photos in the house, no-one comes except his secretary and his clients, no-one calls outside work. Of course, Izaya could just keep his personal life well under wraps, but Masaomi doesn’t think so. He knows Izaya is lonely, and that they are similar enough for Masaomi to turn out the same way if he is not careful.

Whatever. He needs a nap.

-

He watches some daytime TV when he wakes up, until his stomach tells him its lunchtime. He looks around Izaya’s kitchen, and nearly everything is healthy and in need of preparation and cooking. He’d been hoping for noodles or pocky or some crackers. So, he goes for a walk around Shinjuku. He takes his rucksack with his clothes, in case Izaya changes his mind and doesn’t let him back in, the envelope carefully folded at the bottom. Izaya had been very generous.

There’s a bakery not far from Izaya’s place with mouth-wateringly good cream buns, and he takes his time eating one, savouring the filling and the icing.

Perhaps he should buy Izaya something, as a thank you. Especially if he’s staying longer, which he’d like to. If he’d had another night out there by himself, he doesn’t know what he would have done. He’s been trying to sleep in the day and go for walks at night, sitting in McDonalds and internet cafes and bus stations and subways for as long as he can get away with.

He buys Izaya a box of bitter, dark chocolate. Expensive foreign stuff. He can’t remember how he knows the informant likes it.

Izaya is home when he returns.

“Oh, hello, I thought you’d left.” He steps back to let Masaomi in like they’re old friends.

“I bought you something,” Masaomi mumbles. He holds the chocolates out, embarrassed. Part of him – _most_ of him – still hates Izaya.

“A present? Oh, that’s so sweet. Thank you, Masaomi. Are we friends now?”

He has no idea if the informant is being snide or sincere. But Izaya lets him spend the evening curled up on his sofa in peace, watching TV, and doesn’t ask him anything else or mock him.

“I got those idiots out of your apartment,” Izaya tells him. “You don’t have to worry about that any more.”

“But…” he doesn’t understand. He hadn’t even told Izaya about this.

“You don’t have to worry about them anymore,” Izaya repeats. He smirks. “They’re sort of afraid of me.”

When it gets late, when he’s lying down so that he’s watching the TV at a right angle, Izaya sits next to him, his eyes on the TV without really taking it in. The informant has opened the chocolates and rattles the box at him.

He takes one. It melts in his mouth, not as bitter as he expected, he gives a little moan of pleasure.

He can feel the warmth of the other’s man’s thigh inches from his head.

Something taps at the window. Masaomi thinks it’s the wind, a branch, but it keeps coming, too persistent to not be deliberate, and Izaya gets up and comes back with a cat in his arms. Masaomi sits up in surprise.

“You have a cat?”

“Nope, he just stops by sometimes. Not allergic, are you?”

Masaomi shakes his head, and Izaya puts the cat in his arms. He buries his face in its fur.

He holds on to it for as long as he can, before it gets bored and wanders off.

He expects Izaya to mention him leaving the next day, or the after, but he doesn't, he keeps letting Masaomi stay and bringing him food, his eyes gentle, and his mouth staying shut for once.

-

“You’ve been here a long time.”

Masaomi’s head jerks up, going hot with hurt, until he realises Izaya is talking to the cat. The informant smirks at him while the cat cuddles up to him. Masaomi scowls back.

“You should give that cat a name.”

“Maybe we can call him Masaomi II,” he suggests, eyes gleaming. “Although, he was technically here first, so maybe you can be Masaomi II.”

“Shut up.”

“ _Shut up_ ,” he mimics.

He messes up Masaomi’s hair on his way out, and although Masaomi makes a show of slapping his hand off, he feels his heart jump as Izaya touches him. He likes Izaya touching him. He likes Izaya ruffling his hair and teasing him and pushing him when he deliberately takes up too much room on the couch. Why does he like it? Well, if he were Izaya…it’s the way he flirts with girls. The kind of teasing and attention-seeking he does best.

Masaomi colours at the thought, because Izaya is not him and definitely not flirting. Definitely not. Yet Masaomi's heart still clams up whenever he gets too close.

This is not good.

-

He gets a text from Mikado that night, one that gets his heart thudding in an entirely different way.

It’s late, but he goes to Izaya’s room anyway. Gets on the bed and starts pulling at his clothes.

“Izaya.”

Izaya groans and takes no notice.

“Mikado’s messaged me. He wants to meet, says he has something really important to tell me. What should I do?”

“Oh God,” Izaya growls, turning his face away from the screen. “I don’t care, Masaomi, I don’t care about you and your problems.”

Masaomi stares at his phone, unoffended. He tries typing a response, backspaces, thinks, and tries again.

“Can you do that in your own room?”

 _Tomorrow?_ he types, ignoring Izaya, and Mikado immediately sends him a time and a place.

Masaomi swallows. He’s going to tell Mikado everything, _everything_ , and maybe he can help him put it right. Saki is gone, he apparently has his apartment back. He wants a fresh start. He’s going to get himself out of this bullshit, once and for all.

Izaya shifts impatiently in the dark.

“You’re still here.”

Masaomi shuts his phone so the room is in darkness. He has been struggling to sleep by himself. He curls up on the pillow next to Izaya and draws his knees up. Izaya sighs, but he doesn’t tell him to go.

Masaomi stays silent for a long time, fighting an internal battle with himself. He loses and leans in.

He's barely touched Izaya when the other man moves back out of reach.

“…That’s too far, Masaomi.”

Masaomi opens his eyes, swallowing back his disappointment

“Why?”

Izaya sits up and feels around for the lamp. Masaomi catches his hand to stop him.

"Why?"

"You're a child," he says, almost angrily.

"I'm 18 next year."

"Masaomi." Masaomi sees him rubbing his forehead in the dark with his free hand. "Go back to your own room, OK? I didn't mean to lead you on."

"You're only 25, it's not like - "

"You remind me of Shizu-chan."

He says this quietly, but Masaomi hears him clear as anything. He stares at the informant in the dark, trying to figure out what he means.

“Is that why you've been so nice to me? You have a thing for angry blondes who hate you?”

Masaomi cringes, thinking this may have gone too far, but Izaya only laughs and laughs.

"Go back to bed, Masaomi," he says when he's done, the edge creeping back into his tone. "Or I won't be nice to you ever again."

Masaomi decides not to push his luck. He hesitates just before he gets off the bed, however.

"I'm sorry, Izaya."

Izaya ruffles his hair, but it is just platonic. Masaomi wonders how he could have ever thought otherwise.

"No hard feelings, Masaomi. You're cute. You'll make some other child very happy."

"Shut up, Izaya."

Masaomi shuts the door on Izaya's laughter. He's not angry. He's hurt, embarassed, but not as much as he thought he'd be. Deep down he's still scared of Izaya, and knows it's probably for the best. Izaya has been good to him, would hopefully continue to be good to him, but he has already given Masaomi the push he needed. He's going to fix what he'd broken.


End file.
